Perfection
by Sweet Apocalypse
Summary: Is it possible to fathom it could be different to what everyone sees and perceives? Time changes even the people you think you know. Complete.


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Perfection

by Sweet Apocalypse

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You're perfect, and you very well know that. After all, it was written in the stars, and fixed in your mother's eyes. Anyone would be dense to miss the lit path to glory leading from your feet, and you know everything about everyone you're supposed to be: daughter, sister, friend, future valedictorian, president of the French club… The list continues. It remains drilled inside your mind. It would be daunting for a normal person to even attempt this. But you don't fit the definition of normal. And when so much is resting upon your shoulders, you grow accustomed. The fate of the world may be handed to you on a silver platter, but you'll know what to do. You always should.

But instead you strive for imperfections, to keep it realistic. These are your new goals, unlike your other goals which normally become accomplished within a month. You try to notice how you never make your bed properly, how you manage to catch a cold every December and how you spend money as fast as you earn it (ironic, since you never have time for work). But that is the same with most of your friends. On the other hand, though, you aren't like the many girls you acquaint with. You're not a haughty rich snob; you have old friends down at Stoneybrook Middle School – the ones you once used to be in a club with. Those were good times, yes, and though you sometimes felt like an outsider, since the club your friendships with Kristy Thomas and Abby Stevenson have grown. You even went to Kristy's house yesterday, and it wasn't that awkward. Even though, primarily, you went to escape your house - more specifically your sisters Tiffany and Maria. You believe the two of them spend too much time arguing. They normally quiet down for you, but when are you ever home? You hardly even relate to them anymore. Technically your parents have always played you as the prodigy child. And technically, the sea is blue.

Besides, your mother has a plan for every one of your doubts, so what need is there for creativity? Ivy League collage, law degree, and if fate (or preferably your mother) plays the right card, an engagement ring. Then one day a firm, a partner, and a husband. You'll have children - but not too many because you just won't have the time – and life will continue. Too soon you will be the one leaving brochures on your daughter's queen sized bed and nagging her to send in applications, while at the same time debating and denouncing old wedding gifts.

However your daughter wouldn't like that. Because _you_ wouldn't like that life. You have your own plans; ones that are not so concrete. You want to move across the country as soon as your eighteenth birthday (celebrations) is over. You want to work, rent out a house with a friend (a friend that _didn't_ go to your school) and relax for the first time in twelve years. You don't care if you'd be minus a mansion and a couple of maids. You'd live in a cardboard box to leave all this fuss. Maybe you're being selfish, but you don't care anymore. In fact, you're sick of caring! Possibly one day you'll leave the country if you acquire the cash. Perhaps then you'll go to university. But not in America. Not in this town.

When your friends talk about exam schedules, summer tans in Europe and Princeton boyfriends, you dream about escaping Stoneybrook. This place is so diminutive and suffocating. Every corner you turn, you see someone you know. All you have ever wanted these past few years is to spread your wings and fly away. _Away _from all the animosity, the lies and high expectations. Maybe two summers ago you _were_ that girl who wanted to achieve her best, but you went too far. You tried so hard to do your best that you lost the drive that propelled you. And when it came down to that final choice and you wondered if you even wanted a child to live in your world, a world you yourself couldn't accept, you lost that last faint shred of motivation. Ideas began to swirl, doors opened. You never want to wake up twenty years from now and regret everything, but if you never take a chance, a gamble, then you'll just wake up in twenty years and wonder 'what if?'

It's hard to say which is worse.

So you dream. Sometimes you dream of discovering something that will convince you to stay. But that ship sailed a long time ago. You waved good-bye to him and pushed aside all the false promises. One year and twelve days of love, hope and honesty vanished all too suddenly. And then a whole variety of things began to change. Claire Bentley once caught you with a cigarette in the car park after your English literature exam. But you were so tired and stressed from revising the night before and wondering whether you wrote enough about hyperboles (you hate arousing suspicions). The three hours spent scribbling in that stuffy room did nothing for your nerves. But Claire ignored you and the smoke, instead tightening her grip on her bag, and walking calmly to her car. She never invited you to another study group session or made an effort to know you as a friend from that point. Because you're Shannon Kilbourne and this dual identity you play, just like the way you act for drama, never satisfies everyone. So whenever a person discovers something about you that doesn't fit their stereotype, it seems logical for them to desert you. You wish they'd all just leave sometimes; it would make matters easier, really. But your mother always warned you about saying such words. For now you're expected to remain content with your perfection.

This is the perfection that effortlessly flows from your curled hair down to your manicured fingernails and across to your strawberry Guess handbag. The perfection that oozes when you ace a test and whenever you collect some fabulous award in front of a prestigious audience. The perfection that vibrates from your image. But what is perfection? Is it possible to fathom it could be different to what everyone sees and perceives? So, if are you are indeed as perfect as they wish and as perfect as you feel, then surely it has to be something more. Something deeper beyond the faux exterior.

Surely there has to be some reason for all of this.

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A/N: I know Shannon may seem a little OOC but there are a few things I have hinted in this piece that may be attributed to her change.


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